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The Long Fall Ch. 01

By: H. Jekyll



Chapter One: Falling Apart

In the den is a group photo from the last family reunion we held before Dad passed away. You can tell in the photo that he's in decline. He's sitting in a lawn chair and smiling with the rest of us, but no one who was there could understand how he made it through the day. If you look closely, it's clear that he's straining to hold himself up and the hands that grasp the chair are far too big for his body. We'd planned this vacation at almost the last minute, to have one last time with Dad at his favorite campsite in the Smokies, and we almost didn't make it.

The photo isn't some sepia-colored print from a long-ago time. It has all the colors and sharpness of a high-quality digital shot, filled with beautiful details of trees and mountains and faces. Our little family group is on one side. I'm kneeling. Kaetlyn is riding on my shoulders, and I'm pointing to the camera so she'll look at it. Ruth is half kneeling beside us. She rests a hand on my arm. Bill is standing behind Ruth, holding William, who was just a baby then, moving Will's hand to make it look like he's waving. I don't know how Bill came to be holding Will, or why he's standing apart from Jolene, but he's our children's favorite uncle.

That evening, once the kids were asleep, Ruth let her feelings out. "It's so sad, John. It's just so sad." I thought she might cry, but Ruth doesn't cry easily. She put her face to my chest and hugged me, and of course I hugged her back. God I loved her. I love that memory of her. We held each other for the longest time in the dark cabin, her face to my chest, my face to her hair. I wanted to take her clothes off her and hold her every way there is. My Ruth. After awhile, without lifting her face, she said, "Don't ever leave me. I couldn't stand it." 

"You know I'd never leave my girl."

"I couldn't stand it, John. Really. You have to promise."

"I'll be here forever."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

We did make love that night. It was sweet and warm and sad. While I petted Ruth, I had floating above me thoughts of all the drugs Dad needed in order to sleep. I stroked her breasts and her belly with the backs of my fingers, then moved my fingernails along that skin, to her mound, the insides of her thighs, her puss, and I wondered how long it had been since Dad and Mom had made love. It seemed important. When would our last time be? When I entered Ruth I held myself still, so we could kiss and keep it going, to maintain as much contact as possible, as long as I could. When would the last time be? We probably did it to comfort each other as much as for the pleasure, to hold the emptiness of everything at bay. Then, sometime during the night, Kaetlyn crawled into bed between us. She was there when I awoke the next morning. She made it easy to believe everything would turn out okay.

I look at that photo, sometimes, and think about the reunion. As bad as the day was, we maintained a kind of unity in the face of it. Together we would see things through. Family. Partners. Lovers. I wish we could go back. What I've found is that family can be as fragile as Dad was. It doesn't die exactly like people do, but it can fall apart, which amounts to the same thing. 

I found it out tonight.

In our case the cause was Bill. And Ruth. My Ruth. It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't my brother. It would have been awful no matter what, but he's my brother, so break out the multiplication tables. The destructive energy is equal to the masses of their two bodies together, times the square of the speed of the light that brings their images to the husband. 

I know. I'm trying too hard. I just wish the light had never reached me.

*****

I don't want there to be any surprises.

There's been the one, big surprise. I don't know what will happen now. I guess there won't be any particular hurry to how things unfold, because that would be too easy. I've imagined several possibilities, but none seems to lead the pack, so even though things might not progress just so, you can probably predict the options as well as I can. They will be as bland and unimaginative and tawdry as the unfoldings in any other crippled lives. How else could it be?

But: the surprise. How did it happen? We've seen Bill a few times a year. Were there chances before? When would they have been? Of course there were the reunions, though Jolene would have been there and I just can't see Ruth and Bill having had any real time together. Then there were business trips when he'd stop by. It had to be the business trips. Had they done things before? Is there a history?

It doesn't all make sense to me. Ruth didn't seem particularly pleased that Bill was going to visit. She was too tired to play hostess, she said, though it wasn't much of a complaint. When he arrived, the three of us had beers and sat around until it was time for me to grill some burgers, then, when the meat was about half charred, Bill came rushing out, carrying Will on his shoulders, growling and laughing back at Kaetlyn, who was chasing them close behind with a wiffle-ball bat.

Ruth joined in and it was a good evening. "Hah!" you say. But it was. I thought it was wonderful. We got the kids settled and had some adult conversation. Ruth poured cordials. Eventually I had to go to bed, but Bill was on West Coast time. "I'll be a while," said Ruth, warming to the hostess role. Everything was as it should be.

*****

What time did I awake? I remember there was a dream, and I was disoriented and at first thought it must be morning. I'm not used to an empty bed, but I must have crashed. And Ruth wasn't there. 12:34 a.m. Where was she? Not a creature was stirring. Everyone should be asleep.

I thought I should find her. She would in bed with one of the kids. I've done that. One of them wakes and is fussing, so you lie down to give comfort, but you forget to stay awake. I lay there and thought about it for a few minutes. Up you go, John! I staggered down the hall and almost hit a wall because I was still zonked. There's some illumination out there, from the night-light in the bathroom, enough so that when I passed the kids' rooms I could peek in to see who Ruth was sleeping with, but the answer was 'neither.' Kaetlyn and Will were alone except for dolls and stuffed animals. 

Ideas can steal over you sometimes, especially at night. Is that when I started going so quietly? Yes, but right away I discovered why I hadn't heard anything. The sliding door to the den was closed. Mystery solved – except that it wasn't. I stopped short. There was a problem.

The problem was that I heard murmurings, but they were far too quiet. They were barely more than whispers, the mutterings of people who were working hard not to be overheard. I couldn't make out what they were actually saying, but their tones were all wrong, and there was no stream of conversation. There were gaps, periods with no voices at all, then a few words in Bill's voice, or in Ruth's.

Ruth said something a little louder, something that stood out only because everything else had been so soft. It was a single word, followed by a sentence. I could tell the word was "no." 

Then Bill. His voice was deeper than usual. Huskier. That's how I heard it. Then, still another silence, and by that time I was first beginning to think something I didn't want to believe. Ruth murmured again. This time she didn't use the word "no."

It couldn't be that. It wasn't possible. I can almost laugh at myself, at the myself in my memory. How naïve! Not possible? Improbable? Likely. Done! I'd laugh if there was anything at all worth laughing about. I thought the nighttime was affecting my judgment. So why didn't I just slide the door open and say "hi, guys" and maybe remind Ruth what time she had to get up? I'll tell you why: because of the possibility.

I crept away from the door, to my right, through the living and dining rooms, to the kitchen. Be careful of the furniture, John. Fourteen steps, then left, into the kitchen. Fourteen steps! How do I remember that when, the entire time, this is what was going through my mind: Don't be stupid! This is ridiculous! It didn't seem so ridiculous when I found the sliding door between the kitchen and den was closed, too. Why would it be closed? Think, John, think. For silence. I slid past it, past the oven, to the pass-through, took another breath so I could be still for a moment, then peeked carefully.

What I saw didn't make any sense. Though I had just heard Ruth, she wasn't in the den. It couldn't have been more than a minute, could it? Where was she? The only light was a single torchiere lamp in a corner, so there were shadows, and with the dark paneling the light was rusty and dim, but the shadows couldn't hide a person. Bill was alone on the couch, his back to the kitchen, facing a TV that wasn't on, and he was looking downward. Could Ruth have left while I was sneaking into the kitchen? Was he contemplating something? His shoulders were moving. What was he looking at? He inhaled loudly, and I thought for a minute, only a moment, that he was jerking himself off, but he wasn't moving anything fast enough.

Then Ruth appeared. Her hand rose from somewhere down below, moving up above the top of the couch, to Bill's shoulder, and her head followed, first the back of it, then her face. 

It was pretty obvious where she'd been. My Ruth, rising from the depths. She was smiling at Bill, looking into his face, into his eyes. She breathed a sentence, "Did you like that?" As quiet as she said it, I could make out every word. 

That's when I began to shake. 

Ruth was facing the back of the couch, which means she was facing me, and when she suddenly twisted away I thought she had seen me, so I'd have to do something right away. I wasn't ready to do anything. And what in the world should I have done? Oh, I know the options. Scream at them. Pull out a knife. I opted for curtain number three. In any case I was wrong. Ruth turned her face around toward the hall door and stared at it, motionlessly, until she was apparently satisfied no one was coming. He's already here, Ruth. When she turned back the two of them looked into each others' faces again, and they pressed their mouths together. One of Ruth's arms went around Bill's neck. My hands were quivering against the counter. I was willing myself to be still, but I wasn't sure I could. Something surely would start rattling, maybe something inside me. I was breathing quick, shallow, rattley breaths.

My brother! How? My wife, sucking my brother's penis, and smiling at him, being oh-so-wicked with him. Not just 'my wife' but my Ruth, who would never do something like that. Did the chance of being caught make it especially exciting? 

Bill pulled Ruth around so she was leaning against the back of the couch, with her head on his arm. He looked down at her while they kissed, and he moved his free arm down between them. For her part, Ruth grunted out a little puff of air. I thought, he's finger-fucking her. It was like finger-fucking at the drive-in movies, working your hand inside your girl's panties but leaving her clothes on so you can break apart fast if you have to. Ruth grunted again. It could have been a lovely sound. When Bill lifted off from her face, he kept working his arm, and after a moment Ruth began to roll her head from side to side. Resting right beside her head, on its back, was one of her hands. The hand clenched and unclenched rhythmically.

As I remember it, everyone in the scene seemed lost in the moment, in the thrill of the pleasuring, everyone that is except the husband out in the kitchen. He was busy thinking of his history with Ruth. We made love yesterday. Last night! Do you remember, Ruth? Do you care?

I wasn't so lost in them that I missed Ruth's panties, which were lying out in the open, on the carpet, in a shadow right beside the couch. Are you upping the ante, Ruthiekin? If John comes you can't possibly cover up. Let's be brazen and ballsy about the whole thing.

"Okay." Bill pulled further away and watched as her panting subsided. I couldn't see much of her face, but she seemed to be looking toward him again. Had she just re-opened her eyes? Bill's voice became harsher. "Do me some more." 

"You bastard." She didn't mean it. When she turned her head I could see she looked pleased, and she breathed the words out again. You're so happy to be cheating with him. 

"Yeah. Do the dirty deed to me."

Ruth touched a palm to Bill's face, gave his cheek a caress, then disappeared again, but her palm touching his face told me plenty. 

Now Bill was the only one on stage. At first he looked down in his lap, but then he tilted his head back, just like she did. He grunted differently than she had, but really not so different. She was doing it all right. I knew exactly what he felt. I know how she does it. She'd used her mouth on me just last night. Ruth! She had knelt over me, using her lips and tongue to play with me, turning her body around so I could play with her ass. I caressed it and ran my fingers from her anus to her button, back and forth. That sweet ass. Sometimes I can almost lose my concentration on what she's doing to me, because her ass feels so good under my hand, but now the exact sensations of her mouth flooded back to me. 

Bill's arms had gone out of sight again, down somewhere below his shoulders, making me certain he was holding Ruth's head down. His breathing was faster, and louder, and I thought it's going to happen now. There was Ruth, up again. She's got him high, so now they'll fuck. I couldn't stand anymore of it. I didn't move a finger.

Bill panted, "Finish me!"

"What about me?" 

"Later."

"We have to hurry. Someone might wake up." She looked at the hall door again. Which 'someone' did she mean?

Bill stopped for a minute as though he were thinking, then he pushed Ruth around so she leaned back on the couch again, and this time I could see from his shoulder how much he moved his arm. It didn't take long. Ruth began to utter those lovely, high-pitched, almost breathless little sounds, such quiet little things that when the door is closed I never really worry the kids will hear them, but loud enough for Bill that he put his mouth on hers to swallow them whole. Then she was over the top, saying something that I heard as a muffled "O" over and over and over, into his mouth. 

How could you do that, Ruth? How could you come for him? How could you kiss him like that? How could you do any of it?

There were enough reminders in the room to help her reconsider what she was doing – the photo from the reunion, and the holiday portrait of Kaetlyn and Will and us, the one that came out so well we decided to frame and hang it. It's right there, damn it! And there are other pictures of each of us in the den. We chose them carefully, selecting our favorites and spending days finding just the right frames. Ruth wasn't seeing those. She wasn't actually looking at anything at all while she came and moaned into Bill's mouth. 

*****

We could stop the tape at this point. Everything that happens, whatever it is, will happen because of this event. Effects of causes play out over time. Everything that will be will be, but not because of what I saw. Not just because of that. Yes, because of that, but not because of the actions themselves. It's because of what they told me. Once I accepted that this was real, I knew Ruth wasn't who, or what, I had thought she was, and everything she had ever said or done, and how she had said it or done it, was transformed. It wasn't just that I'd lost my wife, but that the person I thought was my wife, the personality I loved, didn't exist. She'd vanished, leaving this stranger in her place.

What did I think Ruth was? Exactly what? Let me tell you an incident. We once fought over a woman. Call her Gina. It isn't what you're thinking, though. Gina was just someone I worked with, who had a crush on me and didn't hide it very well. I could have had her anytime I wanted, and she was a luscious thing, but I tried to ignore it. Oh, of course I didn't just ignore it. I imagined her naked. I fantasized until I got hard, then I'd play with Ruth to see if I could get her in the mood. I'd think of her while I was sexing Ruth. I'm not perfect, but I wasn't going to do anything.

Ruth had suspicions. I brushed them off. Then almost the worst thing happened. One day Gina was talking about pretty intimate things, skirting the edge of what was appropriate. She'd push the conversation and I'd pull back. Yes. It's true. I tried to be obtuse, to respond to the most innocent meaning of a comment. I could see where Gina was heading, and I didn't want her to be in a spot where she'd lose deniability, where I'd have to turn her down, but I failed. 

"John, I have these feelings."

"Gina..." Don't say it! Back off! 

"For you."

I didn't say anything at all.

She continued. "I was wondering if you had any feelings like that? For me?" She put it all right out there for me. Poor Gina. Now I had to try to reject her gently. I wish I were better at it. Before she left, she asked, "You won't tell anyone, will you?" I promised.

The next week Ruth and I organized a party. You've planned them. You list potential guests, maybe write them down, adding and subtracting names. Your wife mentions a name, say it's Gina's, and she makes one of those snide little side comments a wife might make if she thinks another woman likes her husband too much: "...unless you'd like to party with her alone."

Ha-ha! Except the husband goes mute.

"What is it?" 

"I'm not sure we should invite her."

Everything slowed down from there. Ruth gave me a slow, searching look before she said anything, and then she said it slowly, enunciating her words to make sure I got their full import, the way you'd talk to someone who was both slow and guilty.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"What happened between you and Gina?"

"Nothing happened."

"John!"

"Damn it! Nothing happened! But she does like me, the way you think she does. So I'm thinking we shouldn't invite her."

"How do you know?"

"She told me."

"She told you she wants you?"

"She told me. In so many words. Yes."

"When?"

"Last week."

"Last week?"

"Friday."

"Friday? John! My God! How could you know that and not tell me?" I'm writing a question mark, but there should be another exclamation point.

"She asked me to keep a confidence!"

"John! How could you?"

"She asked ..."

"How could you do that? I'm your wife! We don't have any secrets! You can't keep something like that from me! It's like before! How can I trust you?"

Trust me? I had slipped once, long ago, early in our marriage, stupidly, thoughtlessly, and almost as stupidly had immediately confessed everything to Ruth. I know what it means to fail, and to regret. It hadn't been as bad as it could be. Within two nights we were making love again. But Ruth never let me forget that I didn't quite meet her standards.

"What could I do? She asked me."

"What you do is you tell me! John, we're not two people. We're a marriage. Don't you understand? You have to tell her we don't have any secrets!"

It wasn't a big fight. If it hadn't been immediately before the reunion, I might not have brought it up at all, but you can see the point. Ruth made union a requirement. My own Lincoln. Mother Abraham. I had cut off the possibility of doing anything with Gina. I was so proper -- upright, gentle, a family man, a friend to the poor dear -- then Ruth upped the ante. I had to be even better. I had to be like Ruth.

*****

So much for union. Where is the Ruth who demanded it? Now she was busy melding with Bill, who had waited long enough for his pleasure. He pulled off her and gazed down at her as she melted into the port wine couch cover. We bought that cover together. In fact we got everything in the den together, almost everything in the house. Almost anything she'd see besides Bill would tell her she had to stop this. Instead she sank languidly into the couch while he looked down with fornicating eyes.


The Long Fall Ch. 01



"Now do me all the way." And she did. Not right at that moment. For someone who'd said they had to hurry she was remarkably patient. She was all tranquil except for her breathing, and she stayed like that a few moments, but once her breathing settled down she sat up. She raised her hand to Bill's face again, and gave him that look again, as intimate as anything I've ever seen from a woman, then gave him another sweet kiss on his lips before going back down. She just disappeared, as though submerging in a pool. 

This began the final stage, with Bill grunting and twitching, not stopping this time, moving his shoulders and staring down at this woman who used to be my wife, who was working him while her husband, and something else, died in the kitchen. It was about then that I realize they weren't going to finish by screwing. I'm so slow. It wasn't like the other Ruth and me. It was dirtier and more charged. It was hotter. It was crackling. 

Bill grunted, "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah," and he got breathless just like Ruth did, and when his breath exploded from him it was like a whale sounding, like a whole pod of whales sounding, one after the other.

*****

I'm sure Ruth has done other men. We weren't innocents when we met. Neither of us ever asked – or told – what we had done with other people. I've never been jealous of them, or even very curious. Why should I be? After all, she chose me. I knew after our second date that she was the one, a fact I kept secret for three whole months because it freaked me and I didn't want to scare her away, and when I proposed I found she'd been waiting for me to get around to it.

I've told you how we were. Ruth and John, the entity, the team, not just the beast with two backs. She was my best friend, so I thought. How could I have been that wrong? How good an actress is she? And she bore my children, Kaetlyn and Will, either of whom could have toddled into the den at any minute, yawning and rubbing her eyes, rubbing his eyes, staring with a child's simple amazement at the sight on the couch. What would they think? Neither could understand it, not at their ages. I can't understand it at mine. That's not true. I understand it. I just don't know how it happened, or what to do about it.

So Ruth rose for the last time, about done with her tasteless little cuckolding. I wish I could have become aroused from watching it, fully erect and ready to fuck, the way it is in all those tasteless little stories about tasteless little cuckoldings. Well it was over. She worked her lips a little and held her right hand up in what might almost be a Vulcan sign of greeting, her fingers splayed open over her mouth in a way that let her push her index and long fingers over a lip, to her mouth, where she sucked something off them. She gave Bill a look that was almost a smirk and knelt all the way up, until she was higher up than him. "I need to get to bed before he wakes up." 

There wasn't any guilt in the words. She was happy, smiling, fulfilled.

When Ruth stood I could see for the first time that she really was naked below the waist. Her shirttail hung to the top of her mound, hiding a little of that dark brown bush that contrasts strikingly with her flesh. Her thighs are trim. She had worked so hard to lose weight after Will was born, dieting crazily and joining a local gym, where she worked out four evenings a week. When she reached her goal she showed herself off to me, and I celebrated by giving her a full-body massage with baby powder, full-body but with special attention to her thighs, ending with a heavy massage of her vulva that brought her off before I ever got to the cunnilingus, long before I got to the coitus. But I did get to everything. Could Bill appreciate her body like I did? He reached out to grab her vagina, and she let him hold it for a few seconds before she pulled his hand away. I don't know if she gave the hand several short kisses or one long one. 

"I have to go."

She bent way over and came back up with her shorts in her hand, and swung them overhead as though in triumph before leaning over to kiss Bill still again. He turned his head a fraction to one side, to dodge her mouth, and she laughed at him and asked: "Oh, are we getting finicky all of a sudden?" That's when I realized she would find her panties and be out in the hall before I could get back to the bedroom. I was frozen, but when she stepped past Bill, he stood and grabbed her from behind, around the waist. She laughed again, trying to be quiet while she did it. He kissed her neck. I began hurrying out to the living room. In my last image of them, his pants and underwear are bunched down around his knees. His butt is bare, and before he pulls Ruth back against him I can tell his penis is almost flaccid.

*****

This is just one of those things. Cole Porter. Just one of those crazy flings. I had to let it go, I thought. There was too much at stake to push the matter. What would happen to our kids if I lost control? Did I want to break up their home? What would happen to Ruth and me? Ruth and me. Well, something had already happened there. But what of the rest of the family? I had to be a man of the world. Forget the bourgeois conventions. It's only sex. Keep it light. Keep it simple. Vogue, vogue, move to the music. Wouldn't we always be there for each other when it counted? My partner and my brother. I'd loved them both for so long. Could it be that bad for them to love on each other a little?

Ruth slipped into the room. I'd beaten her by maybe a minute. Bill must have held onto her a little longer. Maybe she finally gave him that sticky kiss, or they took the time to arrange another session. Tomorrow. The house would be empty.

I can be cool. I can do it. I'll be a sophisticated man of the world. Dress up like a million dollar trouper. Try my best to look like Gary Cooper. Super duper! 

Items of clothing dropped to the carpet. Those would be Ruth's blouse and shorts. Next her hand slid under her pillows while I pretended to sleep, and there were the sounds of cloth brushing and catching as she pulled on her nightgown. The sheet was pulled back and she began to ease, ever so gently, into bed. 

This was where everything changed again. I became terrified she'd touch me, lay a hand on my arm as she likes to do, the hand that had just been playing with Bill's dick, that she hadn't even washed. I was terrified of everything. She might try to kiss me. That polluted mouth, the new home for millions of Bill's squigglers. My little game with song lyrics failed me. 

It's important not to show anything. No weakness. It's not allowed, and it would give everything away, so I'd have to do something. Please don't make me have to confront them, either of them. You can tell by now that I'm not so sophisticated. I'm not very cool. That was all bluster and hope. 

I needn't have worried about Ruth touching me, though. She stayed as far on her side of the bed as she could get, turned so she faced away from me. Well, that followed the rest, didn't it? I was an inconvenience. She didn't want to leave Bill to come to me, did she? She'd rather have had the whole night with him, unless the shortness of the time ratcheted up the thrill, but at least tonight she didn't have to playact her life partner role. Now I knew where we really stood with each other. I'd known it since I saw her hand touch his cheek, but I hadn't wanted to understand. In bed, though, everything was different. It forced itself on me like a lightening flash, more than a flash. It was far brighter and grander than a lightening bolt, so brilliant that I half expected to feel thunder shake the house. Before it faded I took a huge breath, rolled over toward Ruth, held myself up on my arms and barked down at her:

"You could at least have washed your mouth out before you came to bed!"

Ruth jerked and cried out – one brief cry. Then she was completely still. I had thought she'd say something, try to deny it, but nothing. I couldn't even sense her breathing. I rolled back to my side and pulled the covers up. The room had turned deadly quiet.

*****

"Get up!" 

I couldn't wait her out. Now that she knew I knew, I couldn't do nothing. I turned on my bed light and sat up. Ruth was still lying motionlessly, but her eyes were wide, staring at me. It came in another flash that she didn't know what to do. She might have lain there all night trying to think, terrified because she'd been caught, trying not to move until she could decide how in the world to respond, realizing at the same time that it was now too late to respond. You'd think anyone putting herself in a position to be caught would have contingency plans.

"Get up!"

She sat up but she didn't otherwise move. She held her hands close against her breasts, hunched over, twisting the end of the sheet with tight fists.

"Come on!"

"What are you going to do?" She tried to control her voice, to make it neutral, but it quavered.

"We're going to the den."

She got up, but she wouldn't get close to me. I hurried down the hall. She shuffled about ten feet behind.

Bill was sitting on the couch, absolutely nonchalant, pretending to look at some book. He must have heard, the bastard, but he's cooler than Ruth.

"What's up?"

"I know what you two did. You can't..." There was this catch in my throat. Take a breath. Finish up. "You son of a bitch! You aren't welcome in my house anymore. Pack your things and get out."

"What are you talking about, John?" Bill knew the drill. God, he's cool. Never admit anything. Always stonewall. Don't tell them anything they don't already know.

"Don't try that, Bill. You're going." I was out in the room. Ruth had drifted into the doorway.

"John, nothing's happened." He looked innocent, and hurt. I wouldn't believe he could have done anything, if I hadn't seen it. If Ruth hadn't caved so quickly, I might have begun to doubt my eyes.

"Drop it!" I wanted to be civil, to hold onto a little bit of Cole Porter wisdom. I didn't want to blow up, but my voice was getting tighter and louder. "This is just among us. No one else needs to know about it. Just get the hell out." 

"This is crazy talk, John."

That's when I cracked. I used that voice, the one that's thin and sharp, that cuts.

"You son of a bitch! She blew you! You masturbated her! Do you want me to describe the sequence? Get out of my goddamned house now!"

This time he didn't answer. Finally he stopped trying to deny. It got completely quiet in the den, almost completely. Ruth made a little whimpering sound in the doorway, which she tried to stifle by holding a hand over her mouth. I intended to stand there until they were gone. I guess I expected Ruth to go, too. I don't know, because my thinking wasn't clear. It seemed to make sense. But here came the first complication. 

"Mommy!" It was Kaetlyn.

Ruth tottered in the doorway. She began walking toward Kaetlyn's room. No! I rushed past her and hissed: "Don't you dare go near my children!"

*****

"Hi, Katie-Kat. Did you wake up?"

"I want Mommy!"

"What's the matter, sweetie?"

"You yelled!"

Ruth was right behind me, in the doorway, looking bewildered. She held her hands as though she didn't know what to do with them. She didn't leave, but she didn't come close either.

"I'm sorry, Princess. I saw your mother giving Uncle Bill a blow job and I got upset."

"What's a blow job, Daddy?"

No, of course that isn't how it went.

"I'm sorry, Princess. Mommy and Uncle Bill were playing a game, and I got excited."

"I want Mommy."

Ruth stepped forward and I turned all the way around to give her a look. "Mommy has to help Uncle Bill pack." Pause. "Then she has to go brush her teeth." Ruth didn't move. Her mouth was open. That mouth. She still didn't know what to do with her hands, and she didn't come any closer. 

"Does Uncle Bill have to go?"

"Yes, he does. And Mommy's going to help him pack." When I glanced back again, Ruth was gone. "I tell you what, Katie-Kat. You get an extra special bedtime story. Which one would you like?"

From the den there were quiet voices, voices trying not to catch the attention of a child, quiet but filled with tension. They had a sharp, brittle quality, not at all like the rich breathiness a half hour ago. There were footsteps. Someone came out to the hall bathroom and I could hear items being moved on the countertop. I closed Kaetlyn's door all but a crack, and I tried not to look back at it. There were more footsteps. Far away, the kitchen door opened and slammed. It did it again. I waited for the last slam, and while I did that I sat beside my daughter and kissed her nose and told her the story of the little girl named Kaetlyn and her magical pony.

*****

Kaetlyn was asleep. Bill was gone. Ruth was standing in the den.

There was still the single torchiere lamp. The room was still dim, deep reddish-brown with charcoal shadows. Ruth was the main difference. She was almost as far from the light as you could get and be in the room, at the dinette table, almost to the case with the family picture. Her hand rested on the table, though you couldn't tell if she'd been leaning. She wouldn't look directly at me. She didn't say anything. She was just there. The den was a shambles, but there was nothing left of Bill's, except maybe Ruth.

"I see he left you holding the bag." I had wondered if she'd be here. "That's the way these things go. They never stand by you."

"John, it wasn't ..."

"I don't want to hear it. You should have gone with him. I don't want anything to do with you." 

I couldn't let her get started, because of what she might say, and how I would react. At that moment, I couldn't face how terribly complicated, and exhausting, and sad this whole thing would be, so I walked back to the bedroom. It can all can wait for morning, when I'll have to face it. I guess you know everything. Oh, there's one more thing. Behind me Ruth said, "I'm sorry." 

How do you answer that? I lie here in bed and the time passes, all those events playing out in my mind, over and over. I keep coming up with different responses to her "sorry." If she had finally followed me, to talk, I could have used one of them. Sure I could.

End of Part One.



The Long Fall Ch. 02



(Note to readers. This revision is in response to some helpful readers who convinced me I had made the ending too abrupt, by leaving out some things I took for granted but readers might need to see. Changes begin about half way through. The conclusion is changed only slightly. Anyone who particularly liked it—or didn't like it—is unlikely to experience a change of opinion.)

The Long Fall, Chapter Two: Falling. Apart.

This morning was bad. Not at the very beginning. No, not then. When I finally fell asleep, I slept heavily and didn't dream of Ruth, or Bill, or anything I can remember. There may have been voices, or movement, or a sense of rushing. Something. Everything but Ruth. When I first awoke I didn't even remember what had happened, so I wondered why Ruth wasn't in the bed. But then--oh yes--the tide came in like a tsunami, all at once, to scour the landscape. 

How bad will the evening be?

Ruth was asleep on the couch when I got up. I wondered how long she lay awake. Let her sleep. At least I don't have to talk with her. I made the coffee as silently as I could and got the paper. I ate in the dining room instead of the den. When it was time I woke the kids quietly and began gathering their clothes. I wanted to get us out without waking Ruth. Of course Will didn't want to wake up, so I lay down with him and woke him slowly, trying to be quiet about it. Then Kaetlyn wanted to wear something different. It wasn't going to work. By the time we came out, Ruth was sitting up, and when they saw her they ran to give her hugs, yelling "Mommy! Mommy!" in their little, piping voices. 

"Come on kids. We're going to Mickey D's for breakfast!" I used the super-ebullient voice. "Come on Willy-Wonka! Come on, Kitten-Licken-Katie-Kat! Bee-boo-bob-breakfast won't waiiiiiit!" The kids pulled Ruth by her hands. "Let Mommy go get dressed, kidddaroos!" I pulled them away from her, and I stared her down while they picked up their little packs. "You look like shit." I was quiet, but Kaetlyn heard.

"Uh-oh! Daddy said a bad word!"

*****

I expected Ruth to stay home today while she tried to come up with a strategy, but I was wrong. She's not here. I half expected her to come by my office, or call, and try to apologize. Wrong again. I don't know what she's done all day.

It's Ruth's day to pick up the kids, but I wanted to get them myself, so I went early. Will rides my shoulders into the house. "Yo, Sir William, sir! Dragon at two o'clock! Prepare to charge!" Has she found them gone from aftercare yet? Maybe she won't come home at all? Maybe she's taken off? Maybe with Bill? That would make things so much easier.

"You can watch TV for one hour, kids. Okay? You can watch the end of 'Sesame Street' and then 'Barney.'"

Here's an email from Bill. Oh brother! Oh "brother" indeed. It's marked with a red exclamation point, announcing its importance. Why? Do I need to think about this even more? Hasn't it swamped my entire little universe? The Big Bang filled the void. Well, Bill's Big Bang did, but it opened the void.

"Dear John:" 

That's certainly original! 

"If I could undo what happened last night, I would. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry! You're my brother and I love you, and I know it was unforgivable, but I hope that you *will* be able to forgive me eventually. Please, whatever you do, don't blame Ruth. It was all my fault. It was all my doing. I pushed and pushed and... "

Blah, blah, blah.

That's about the gist of it, though it goes on for a while. I guess Ruth isn't with him right now. That means she'll probably turn up at home.

Here's my reply: "Yes, it was unforgivable. And next you'll tell me Ruth wasn't there at all. I could see she enjoyed what she did. I don't need any more emails." Hit the send button. Ruth kissed the hand he hit 'send' with, the one that had grabbed her vagina. Hit the fucking button.

*****

Ruth is just getting home. She's pulling into the driveway. Be still my beating heart. It wouldn't help to stroke out just now.

I started a load of laundry and I'm cooking, because I don't want her to have anything to keep herself occupied, and because it gives me things to do. I can't stay still. I've been checking the driveway every few minutes, but really she's right on time. Okay. Deep breaths. I lean back against the sink. Come on in. Ruth looks over at me, and then closes the door softly. She's careful with it, careful to look away from me and at the door knob, but she can't avoid me completely. She finally looks back, at about the middle of my chest. Potatoes are bubbling merrily. Barney is saying something exuberant in the next room. Finally, "John..."

"If you want to say hello to your kids, it would make them happy." I turn back to the sink.

"I'm sorry." Barney is singing. He sounds gay to me. "I love you."

"Sure you do." I pretend to scrub a dish.

"Can I explain?"

"There's nothing to explain." 

Later I see her sitting on the couch with the kids while they try to watch their show. Will wriggles to get off her lap, so he can play with some toys on the coffee table. In between songs, Kaetlyn is reading out loud: "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish." Ruth keeps giving them kisses, but they aren't paying any attention.

*****

We're playing this little game, Ruth and I. I'll be in a room, maybe pretending to watch TV. If Ruth comes in and isn't just passing through, I get up and leave. I won't stay in the same room as her unless the kids are there. As soon as they leave I do too. Ruth followed me out a couple of times before she gave up.

She looks awful when she isn't putting on a front for Kaetlyn and Will. I passed our bedroom door a few minutes ago. She was lying there with a book, as though she was reading, but she was just staring at the wall, washed out, eyes red and baggy. I almost felt sorry for her. So she's been crying. Well, she has too much pride to cry in front of me. She won't beg me. She wants it to be like we simply had a fight and I'll get over it. She's going to try to outwait me. Damn. What am I going to do? It can't go on like this forever.

When she noticed me I walked on.

*****

Something new and terrible happens every day. This time it's Jolene on the phone.

"Bill confessed to me."

Oh great. Now we'll have to commiserate. Misery loves company and all that, but I don't want to have to talk about it, especially not with Jolene. I don't know if I can stand that.

"Yeah...I'm sorry you had to find out. I guess it's as bad there as it is here. You say he confessed?"

"He said it was something I'd find out about sooner or later, about him and ... your wife. The home-wrecker."

"Yeah." Here it comes. "What did he tell you?" 

"He said they weren't in bed, but that things went too far. Will you tell me? He wouldn't say exactly. Just that you caught them." 

"Too far. Yeah. Too far." I have to sigh. I don't want to show any emotion to Jolene. I've been thinking that maybe if she were a better fuck this wouldn't have happened, though that's dumb. "I guess that's technically correct. And no, they weren't in bed." I take a breath and let it out loudly. "Well, you might as well know it all. They were doing it on our couch."

"Oh!" Jolene's voice gets tiny, as though I've just knocked the breath out of her. A sledgehammer to the chest. How could it be worse? I shouldn't have blurted it out, maybe said 'are you sitting down' or something and built up to it, but it's too late. Everything is too late. "Oh." Poor Jolene. "I thought ... I thought maybe they were just kissing or he was feeling her...or something." Her voice trails away completely with 'or something.'

So I get to fill her in. Why did you confess in the first place, Bill? Did you think I was going to play it down for you, maybe help you get out of trouble and back into your wife's cunt? Oh you'll never get in there again! Now I could get in if I wanted! It would be easy. She and I would have to comfort each other, wouldn't we? One thing would lead to another. I could arrange for photos and send them to you and the home-wrecker. Wouldn't that be fun?

"I'm sorry, Jolene. I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you. They were sexing. Ruth did fellatio on Bill. All the way." She doesn't answer. I wonder if we've lost our connection. "Jolene?"

I hear her crying in the background. I'm such a shit. I wish I hadn't told her anything at all. I could have been vague, told her I caught them on the couch, said they were in the middle of something but not completely undressed, and that I couldn't see everything, then moved on to telling her about throwing Bill out. I could have taken that route. It would have been almost as true. But she asked. Yes, and I know the answer to that, don't I?

"What are you going to do?" 

"I don't know."

"I made him leave. I'm going to file for divorce."

"I'm sorry."

"I can't believe you're letting that whore stay there. That whore!"

"I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

"What?" Worse and worse. We don't keep any secrets in this family, do we Ruth?

"Was it just going to be poor, stupid Jolene? Am I the only one who didn't know your wife was giving blow jobs to my husband?"

"Jolene..."

The kitchen door opens. It's Ruth.

"Were you all going to go around pitying poor little me? You and Bill and...the slut? Was I the only one not in on the joke?"

"Jolene, it wasn't...wait." I hand the phone to Ruth. "This is for you."

*****

Maybe I'm being infantile. Once at a party this well-toned guy monopolized talking with Ruth and danced with her a few times. On our way home, she mentioned him and I got huffy. "He should play with someone a little less married."

Ruth turned to me and smiled a wide smile. "You're jealous."

"Oh, just forget it!"

"My husband is jealous for me!" She had this look of absolute delight.

"I said forget it!"

"You think that great big hunk is going to steal me away!"

"Drop it!"

It was silly, sure, and Ruth enjoyed it far too much. When we got home, she gave me one of those sweet kisses--yes, those kisses--and said, "You don't know how good that made me feel," and I got very lucky with her.

I'd like to think we could just move on and forget about it, but I can't. I'm jealous, but a kiss and a fuck aren't going to resolve anything this time. I'm jealous that Bill could know the real Ruth while I was stuck with the masquerade. And yes that he has that certain something she apparently couldn't get from me. How many others have had it, and have gotten to know the secret Ruth? Are most of them in marriages based on deceit?

*****

It just keeps getting better and better. 

Today my mom called. Jolene is making sure everyone knows. 

Poor Mom. Caught smack dab in the middle, between two of her sons. I wonder if she called me first. I'd think it would be so hard for her to talk with Bill. She is good at offering sympathy--it's one of her things--but she can't take sides, and since she's the only one in the family no one will tell exactly what happened, that limits the conversation. We have to talk in pretty general terms. But she gets to the point: 

"I think we should postpone the gathering at Dad's grave. Just until this is all straightened out. I don't think everyone would be able to come. Some people might feel uncomfortable."

Like all of us.

"Sure."

"I hate for this to come between you."

"Well..."

"I don't understand it. Bill was always the easiest to handle, growing up." 

*****

Ruth still hasn't tried to call me at my office. She sent two emails, apologizing, but I didn't return them. At home we stay apart except when we have to be together for the kids. I dread going home when I know she will be there. There's always an excuse to stay at the office a while longer. If I'm home alone with Will and Kaetlyn, the air thickens when it's time for her to appear.

It's hardest when the kids are asleep and there's no one to put on an act for. Without even talking about it, we've managed to come up with a routine that lets us both tuck them in, without our actually having to be in the same room for more than a few seconds. Since we got them down tonight, Ruth has been in the living room and I've been here in the den, sitting almost exactly where they did it. I hadn't thought of that until just this second. It reminds me of when Elsa Lanchester found that Charles Laughton had sexed another man on their couch. She supposedly told him, "Just get rid of the couch." Could that help?

Here comes Ruth. It's time to go.

"Don't leave, John. Please don't. Can't we at least talk?"

"What's there to talk about?"

"About what I did, and how sorry I am, and how much I love you."

"I'm sure you're sorry."

"The part about loving you is true too."

"Maybe. Sure. But tell me--what does it mean when you tell someone you love him? What exactly do you mean? I'd like to know that."

"Don't leave!" She's trying to be emphatic and keep her voice quiet at the same time. 'Don't leave' comes out sotto voce. "Please don't leave. I know I was wrong, and that I hurt you. I'm not perfect. I have warts. I know it. I want to make it up to you." She comes up behind me while she's speaking and surprises me by wrapping her arms around me and holding herself tightly against my back.

"Let go!" I can feel her all the way up my back. Her breasts are distinct. I don't want her to touch me. 

"I'm not letting you go!" She is holding her cheek flat against my back. I pull against her fingers, to break her grip, but I don't want to hurt her. I could get loose, but I can't bring myself to do that. "Please. Honey. Let me hold you." Now she's turning her face, back and forth, against me, and kissing me all over my back, maybe wiping her eyes, and working her body into mine. 

"Let me go!" I try to fling her off but it doesn't help, so I stand passively. Give it up. You're not my Ruth anymore.

"Please. Honey. Don't let one stupid, stupid thing ruin everything we have. We can get past this. I'll be so good to you. I'll make you happy."

With that she draws her hands down past my belly, across my belt, all the way down to my crotch. "Please honey." They're over my balls. She strokes me upward. Oh Jeez! Here I can't stand her and she's getting me hard. She strokes me again, lightly, almost tickling. She knows how to do it. She knows exactly what I like. Why not? She was my lover for a decade. She knows me that well. "Please honey. Let me be good to you."

Ruth comes around to the front. She stands on tip-toes and reaches up to take my face in her hands and kiss me. "Please honey." 

We kiss. Oh no. She's always been such a good kisser. She has the most supple lips. We continue the kiss while she pushes her breasts against my chest. My penis is inflating and pushing back against her lower belly. Kiss me, bitch. Oh God. Rub your belly against me. You haven't felt this good to me in forever. Is a fling what it takes to make you such a lover? We stand, holding each other, rubbing cheeks, breathing together. I don't know what's going on. Her hand goes to my penis again.

"Come over here." I pull her around to the couch. "Here." We sink to it. Once there I pull her pants down. I open her blouse. It isn't easy with her kissing and writhing and trying to unzip me. I bite a nipple.

"Oh!"

Don't move."

I suck on her nipple and push two fingers all the way up into her. Slip-slide, in and out they go. I'm sawing at her vagina, biting Ruth's breast, forcing her against the back of the couch. I've always loved it when her chest moved against my face when she was high. It's no different now. "Oh honey. Oh! Oh!" She could come, but I don't want her to, so I pull back.

"Not too fast. Here. Do me." I shove my pants down, underwear and slacks together. I put my fingers that had been inside her vagina to her mouth. She sucks them in. "Now do me." And she does. Ruth takes my face in her hands again, to kiss me again, on her way down to the real action. It's waiting for her down below. It's almost purple by now. Down, Ruthie. Down you go. Down she goes, until I feel that wonderful mouth sucking me inside. Nothing else feels like that, or could replace it. My hands are on her head. Her hair is tickling my thighs and my stomach. She's so good and I'm so close. So close. It's time to do it.

I push her away.

"That's about how it went with Bill, isn't it?"

In the movies, this is where Ruth would try to slap me, and maybe succeed. Or I might catch her wrist. It's not the movies, though it's a good scene, isn't it dearie? Ruth is sprawled back on the couch, naked below the waist, her blouse open, still breathing hard, her eyes wide, incredulous, now a hand pulling her blouse together, the other one moving to cover her sex. It's something to see, certainly the best thing in several days. Me, I'm a nice contrast. I stand, pull my pants up, and fasten everything. I don't know how I managed to pull it off.

"Good night, honey." I have to be careful, or I might come in my pants.

*****

Won't the night ever end?

*****

I've got the blues pretty bad. 

I've been lying here, waiting for the alarm to go off, waiting for the world to begin, or end, or do whatever it wants. I wish it would do it without me. It's finally 6:30, time to get busy, but I find Ruth in Will's bed, and he's snuggled against her in an intimate, tender little scene, like something by a Romantic painter. Will is pressed into his mother's breasts, burrowing his big, round head into her so hard I wonder how he can breathe. She holds him in both arms and is curled on her side, so she's making a nest for him out of her body. I almost expect the sunrise to center them in a golden halo. It's the first time I've seen her look contented since she sucked Bill. Asleep she's serene. What will she be like awake?

I hate myself. 

It's never going to be good again. I thought after last night I'd feel triumphant because I got back at her a little, but I don't feel that way at all. We can't be a family anymore, not like this, not like Ruth is this moment with little Will, not one of those sweet families like we once were, where you're happy just to see or touch or be around each other. Oh hell, I'm starting to cry. How did that happen? I can't do that. How did it happen? I guess I wasn't paying enough attention. It's not allowed and I can't let Ruth see any weakness. I'll be okay in a moment. I just have to control myself and wash my face.

There. There. That's better. Okay. Take a cleansing breath. Dad has to be cheerful, and it's time to wake the kids. Be cheerful. Pump it up. Happy! Jolly! 

I fucking hate myself.

*****

The kids just ran out to the car. This morning is special for them because they have the keys and can unlock the doors themselves, and the moment the kitchen door slams Ruth turns to me and says:

"How could you do that? How could you be such a bastard?"

"Me? How could you try to seduce your way back in?" 

"That's not what it was!"

"Just how stupid do you think I am? Do you really believe all that crap about men thinking with their penises?"

"I was trying to show you I still love you, and that I still want you. I was trying to be good to you!"

"You were trying to get me to fuck you so I would ignore what you did!"

"I was trying to help us get past it! When it was you, I forgave you. We got past that! But you won't do the same for me!"

We could go on much longer, and it would get messier and uglier, but there just isn't the time. I have to be going.

"Think about it Ruth. Think about what I did, and what you did, and compare them. And while you're thinking about it, pack, because it isn't working with you here at..."




The Long Fall Ch. 02



"No!"

"...at the house. And I think you need to be out of here for a while..."

"No!"

"Yes."

"No! Don't make me go. Please! I'm sorry, John. Please let me stay! I'll do anything! We can get past it!"

What just happened? She changed completely. Her response. There's something in what she said, in how she said it. There's something going on, as though I've found the chink in her walls, but I don't know what it is. I don't know what I did, or what to do with it. I'm remembering her words from way back, "Don't ever leave me. I couldn't stand it." Is it that? The one thing she's absolutely terrified of? Being alone?

"That's not how it works. I'm not going to just get over it. You have to leave."

"Don't. Please don't make me."

"I can't stand what's happening here. You have to leave." 

*****

And she left. She's gone. Her car isn't here. I looked in the closet and found she took two suitcases, and there's a note. I really didn't expect it, and I don't understand. Usually the husband moves out. I thought it would have to be me, and all day I've been wondering if I could stand to leave Will and Kaetlyn behind with her. I certainly wouldn't have used force to kick her out. I didn't think I could make her go, not without a court order, not and have her leave the kids with me, but somehow she's gone.

She left, but she wouldn't surrender. She'll try to make me be 'reasonable,' and she'll bargain. She won't beg. She won't do a mea culpa. She'll even try to seduce me. She's a cunning one. A cunning cunt! Yes. How could I have been so blind about her all these years? The hell of it is, if she'd fallen apart and begged me, if she'd thrown herself on my mercy, broken down, I'd have taken her back. If she had cried. Stupid, isn't it? I would have taken her back if I thought she was really remorseful. 

And then I'd be stuck with her.

It's quiet around the house. The kids are taking it pretty well, but Kaetlyn asked me, "When can Mommy come home?" I told her I didn't know, and she's been pretty quiet since then. Maybe this is too hard for them. My daughter needs her mother. Maybe we could stay together and be civil. Couldn't we fake it for the kids? I'm sure Ruth could. She faked it for me convincingly enough.

*****

"You shouldn't do it, John."

"Why not?"

"What if, God forbid, one turns out not to be yours? Say it's your little girl. It won't make any difference to her. You're her Daddy--period. But it'll make a difference to you, and to your relationship. You could ruin her life."

"I have to know. What if Ruth's done it before?"

"It's a mistake. Just forget it."

"If I'm not their biological father, I'll adopt them."

"I'm telling you it's a mistake. That's my professional opinion."

"I can't help it. I have to know."

I hate myself. I hate myself. That bitch! Why did she have to do this to me? I'm a useless human being, married to a conniving bitch. Useless, fucking eunuch! I could fix that. All I'd need is a gun and about ten minutes. Maybe a nice 9mm. Find a place. Compose a note. Call the police right before. A nice gun and a quiet location. Not in the house. I don't want the kids to see the mess. I'll have to apologize to the police in my note, and I'll let Ruth live with the responsibility the rest of her days. 

But then she'd get Will and Kaetlyn.

*****

Jolene's attorney called. He wants a statement for Jolene's divorce case against Bill. They don't have any kids. The problem is their dog, Randolph. Who gets Randy? It's really hilarious if you aren't involved in the case. I almost joked that I know Bill gets randy, because I've witnessed it, but I controlled myself. I happen to know Jolene doesn't much care for the dog, so the cruel legal games have begun. I asked the lawyer if he wouldn't rather get a statement from Ruth, and he said he had tried...

*****

"John?" Ruth's cell connection is bad.

"What?"

"I wanted to tell you. I'm seeing a counselor."

"I'm so happy for you."

"Please, John! You said you were willing to try again, if I made the effort. I'm trying! Please don't shut me out."

"I said I might try for Will and Kaetlyn. So see your counselor. What do you want from me, anyway?"

"Dr. Parker said it would help if you came too. Will you? Please? I'm trying!"

I let it dangle. "Okay. I'll come."

"Oh thank you, John!" You don't have to gush.

"Ruth?"

"Yes?"

"I really am glad you've found a counselor."

*****

But it won't work, even if she sees someone.

"I can't do this." 

Those are absolutely my first words after 'hello.' Ruth parts her lips as though to say something, but it's Dr. Parker who speaks.

"What do you mean, Mr. Cukor?"

"I mean I've thought through everything, and it's not going to work." Around the room I wander, running my hand over book shelves, touching things, distracting myself. "There's no reason for me to be here. I'm going ahead with the divorce."

"No!" That's Ruth.

"I'm sorry to break it like that, but I am."

"But I forgave you!"

"Mr. Cukor? Can you explain?"

Explain. Sure. There are eight long years to explain. I'm aware of the irony, but it isn't like every dog gets a free bite. I'm not just more shallow than Ruth, or maybe I am, but that's how it plays for me. Anyway, I guess she deserves an explanation.

"Yeah. What she's talking about was a long time back. Before there were children to consider. I didn't do Ruth's sister. I didn't do it in our house."

"But I forgave you!"

"And you held it over me! All these years!" We're ignoring Dr. Parker, who is letting us go at it. Around the bookshelves again. Think the words through. I have to control myself. I've been rehearsing it in my head since I came to the conclusion after I committed to the appointment. When I added everything up, it pointed to an enormity I couldn't ever excuse. "All these years. All these years you've used that to shame me. To control me. To talk about how you can't trust me. About how I have to prove myself to you!" Take a breath. "And you know what? It was worth it to me, to keep us together. But now I find it never applied to you."

"Yes it did. It does."

"It doesn't apply to you. I saw it! Eight years ago changed our relationship. I changed myself for you. But you! You knew what it meant and you still blew it off. You tossed off our commitment like...like...like it was nothing. With my brother. After a couple of hours alone. In our very own house. Almost in front of our children. In front of me. And you weren't feeling guilty. You just worried about getting caught."

"No. It wasn't like that!"

"It was exactly like that!" I hate using that voice, but today it exults me.

"Why are you here, Mr. Cukor?"

"You tell me!" Pointing at Ruth. "She made my absolute commitment a point of honor, but she violated it just like that!" Snapping my fingers. "It was all a sham! All those years. Just this Machiavellian way to control me."

That's what I think anyway. Driving along the freeway, whipping through traffic, tempting traffic cops and commuters filled with road rage, I wish I'd put it better, but you can't call up words just the way you want. I can't. Ruth didn't see it my way. Her last words, as I left: "But I really forgave you! I did!" She was counting on a free bite all along, counting on my having to let her have her fling. She's been holding that in reserve all these years, just in case she ever got caught.

*****

It's four in the morning, the end of December. 

I made the mistake of listening to an old something by Leonard Cohen this evening. Pop in a CD and float away from the world, only it doesn't always work that way. I'm still here, and now I've got these lyrics in my head, and his melancholy voice, joining all the other things that were flitting around upstairs. For a hideously empty world it's damned crowded. 

I'd been drinking white wine all evening, something respectable to keep the kids from being able to tell I was drowning myself after reading another email from Bill, so I guess I was susceptible. I won't take Bill's calls but I never got around to locking out his address, and I get the occasional mea culpa. This one was about Ruth. Really, they all are. "I ruined my life with Jolene. Please don't let that happen to your life with Ruth. She's dying inside for you, and I know you need her. Don't forgive me, but please forgive her."

How long has it been since he did what started all this? It's almost the four-month anniversary. Cheers.

Tonight was already special because I got the results. They were just two sheets of paper in an envelope, the ones lying on the coffee table, right here. They're awfully impersonal for what they tell me: the kids are really mine. So? I didn't need them to tell me that. I knew it all along. I didn't but I did, and it doesn't make any difference. It makes all the difference in the world. Doesn't it? They're mine, but there's still Ruth and there's still Bill.

Bill wasn't poetic the night it happened, not like the new email. "Dying inside," he says. Sure. Aren't we all? That night it was more basic: "Do the dirty deed to me." I can't seem to forget anything. I remember my wife touching her palm to his cheek, and looking into his face, and kissing him lovingly, then diving down to his wonderfully dirty cock with her wonderful lips and her tongue, her whole wonderful mouth.

"And you treated my woman to a flake of your life And when she came back she was nobody's wife."

That's for sure. Was that all it was? Just a flake? Now that he's seduced Ruth, Bill wants to play marriage counselor. I picked the wrong music. I should have listened to anyone else, maybe Britney Spears, someone who doesn't suck everything up from below and make you pay attention to it. 

"And what can I tell you my brother, my killer What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you ..."

I guess I wish you'd go away!

Oh Lord. 

I guess that I miss him. Could I forgive him? Forgive her? I miss our conversations and the football games and the way he glommed onto my kids. What else? He's my brother. So, yes, it's four in the morning and I'm still awake, missing my brother and the woman who is nobody's wife, hating them for what they've done to us, and wishing I weren't here anymore.

*****

Kaetlyn comes to me crying.

"What's the matter with my Katie-Kat? Come here."

"Can I sleep with you?"

"Sure. Brr! You're cold.. Is this better?

"Uh-huh."

"Did something scare you?"

"I had a bad dream."

"A nightmare."

"Uh-huh." 

"Do you think you can go back to sleep, now?"

"Can I stay with you?"

"Of course you can, Princess. You can sleep snuggled right up to Daddy."

In the morning they're bracketing me.

*****

Out of nowhere, today, I saw Ruth sitting on the couch, watching TV, and she was insisting she massage my feet with lotion. I was vacuuming the den, and when I began on the couch that's what I saw. My Ruth. A dam broke somewhere. In the next memory she was trying out another recipe she'd found on the Internet, and the kitchen was a mess. Then: Ruth, playing navigator while I drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway. She was wearing that dorky, translucent green golf visor she always wore when we drove on vacations. Later, Ruth and I painting the veranda. I spilled some paint and was furious, but she teased me until I smiled. I remembered Ruth surprising me at work with a lunch basket she had packed for us, baby Will asleep in her over-the-shoulder child carrier. I remembered when we decided to have our second child. It was the first night we tried, and I was still atop her, my heart pounding for all it was worth, when she whispered up to me, "I think we just made a baby." I can't remember her ever looking happier.

These were all true memories, as true as Ruth's face rising from my brother's lap. I felt her hold me when my father was dying, and I heard her say, "Don't ever leave me. I couldn't stand it." Then why did you drive me away?

Ruth this. Ruth everything. One Ruth, another one. How do you balance them out or join them all together? Can you do it? Should you even try? 

*****

We've arranged for the kids to spend their weekends with Ruth. They need to see their mother more, and I'm determined this won't be a messy divorce. My attorney thinks it could get nasty over final custody, but Ruth has agreed to everything I've wanted so far.

When Ruth rang the doorbell, the kids grabbed her and hugged her of course, and the refrain, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" is always the same. We got them out to the car, each carrying a backpack with their clothes. I pulled a large suitcase with stuffed animals, tooth brushes, toys, read-along books, the necessities of a child's life. Ruth and I didn't touch, or talk to each other any more than we had to. I've noticed she won't look at me, not directly. She hangs her head or looks a little to the side, so her eyes don't have to meet mine, like a shy person, though she's never been shy. She was like that while we loaded the kids into the car, but once we had them in she asked me:

"John? Can we talk?"

I had another flash memory of her, how directly she'd look at me, how confident she was. She'd look me straight in the face when she had a concern and say "there's something we need to talk about." Not like this groveling wretch, with its uncertain voice, that could hardly bring itself to address me at all.

"What?" 

We walked to the kitchen door. She still wouldn't look at me. 

"Can I keep Kaetlyn and Will until Sunday evening?"

"Why?"

"Well, it's so little time, and I'd like to take them to see 'Happy Feet.'" She rushed on before I could answer. "You could come too. Maybe we could take them to McDonald's or something afterwards?" She looked up at me from under her eyelashes. Her shoulders were hunched, as though she were afraid I might hit her or something, but she sounded hopeful.

"That's okay. Have fun with them. I have a few things to do, and an afternoon dinner date." Ruth's body sagged. "Why don't I just swing by your apartment and pick them up. Around eight?"

"Okay." She looked down at her feet. "Who are you going to dinner with?"

"Marisa."

Ruth stopped moving. She looked like she was about to say something, but nothing came out, and then her face fell apart and she turned and walked to her car fast, almost rushing. She began wiping her eyes.

"Ruth?"

"I'm sorry." Wiping with the left hand, then the right. 

"Ruth?"

"It's okay. I'm sorry." She was still wiping her eyes with her fingers, and trying to smile, as she got into the car and left.

*****

It's Valentine's Day. I had the kids make cards for Ruth. I imagine she's pretty alone today. When the kids and I got home there was a card for me, stuck into the kitchen door.

It read:

My Darling John:

I wanted you to have a Valentine's card. I know I'm not the best person to send you one, But I want you to know that I love you and I will always love you. You were a wonderful husband to me, and you're the best father Kaetlyn and Will could possibly have.

Forever,

Ruth

*****

My doc prescribed a med to help me sleep, but I don't want to take too much of it. Still, I'm drugged and groggy and I almost knock the phone off the nightstand in the dark. 

"Hello?"

"John?" 

"What's wrong, Ruth? What happened?" I turn on the light. It's 1:47.

"Nothing." There's a long pause. "I'm sorry." She's sad. And there's something else. "I just wanted to talk with you." There's something in her voice.

"Have you been drinking?" She doesn't answer. "Ruth?"

"Yes. Some."

"Don't call me when you're drinking."

"I'm sorry." 

She's so bleak. Her voice is. I've never heard her like that, through all our bad time. Everything has drained out. It's flat. There isn't any energy. I shouldn't pay it any attention. It's probably just the alcohol, but I don't know. I think something is more wrong than usual. 

"Oh that's okay. It's just not a good idea. We could talk tomorrow if you'd like."

"I'm sorry. I just needed to hear your voice. Did I wake you?" 

"No. I was reading. You need to get some sleep, though." 

"I guess." 

"Are you okay?"

I have to wait for her answer.

"No." 

She doesn't say anything else. Ruth? Are you thinking of something bad? Could you hurt yourself? Should I get help? That's what comes up, what I think facing the black hole of her silence.

"Ruth?" 

She comes back. 

"Do you remember...how I used to wake you to talk, when something was on my mind?"

"Sure. Like now." 

When she did that I'd have to make up my mind to stay awake for her and talk things out as long as it took. I guess this time I could just hang up, but I know I won't, and as I think that I realize it's been another long gap since she said anything. I'm about to ask "Ruth?" again, and I think just for a second, not seriously but the way these things come to you in the middle of the night when you're drunk with sleep, that I could hold her on the line and dial 9-1-1 on my cell phone. Then, finally, she speaks again.

"I wish we could go back to the time before all this...when we were together and happy." Her voice has some emotion in it again, but it's only sadness.

"Yeah. I know. I'm sorry, Ruth. You know we can't change the past."

"I know. I'm so sorry I did it." There's another long silence. Again, I almost say her name before she continues, and when she does it is with starts and halts. "I never told you...but I always had a kind of crush on Bill. I know that doesn't make everything better, or excuse anything. I just need to explain. Dr. Parker says it will help if I can tell you these things...you know...to help us come to terms...so that maybe we can be..." Ruth suddenly takes an enormous breath that sounds like a sob. "...be friends again...not to get back together...you know...for Kaetlyn and Will." She's quiet for a few seconds. "Anyway, that was why I let myself go that night. Part of it. It didn't start out that..."

"Don't, Ruth. Don't. It's the past. We don't have to go over it. We can be friends. I'd like that. After all, would I be on the phone with just anyone at two in the morning?" Ruth laughs. It's a woeful little laugh, but real. 

"How are they?"

"I was going to show you when you picked them up on Friday. Will knows his colors. I have the sheets to prove it, on the refrigerator door. And both of them have drawn pictures for you."

"That's so sweet."

The conversation becomes easier, as easy as it can be under the circumstances. Ruth sounds a little happier, and it's nice to talk with her, so the minutes flow. We haven't talked like this since, well, you know. I don't want the conversation to end. It would be so easy to invite her over. She lives not ten minutes away. I could comfort her, and we'd talk, and snuggle, and kiss, and maybe make love, and wouldn't the kids be surprised in the morning? 

I'm getting maudlin.

"Ruth, I hate to go, but I really need to get some sleep. Six-thirty comes awfully early."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up so late."

"I've enjoyed it. Really. Maybe we can talk tomorrow. Okay?" 

"I'd like that." 

Maybe things will look different tomorrow. 

"Anyway, goodnight...friend."

"Goodnight, friend."

*****

I don't want there to be any surprises. I never went back to sleep. It's so overrated, not like love and turmoil and emptiness. I didn't go to work. I've been sitting around the house all day, thinking about Ruth and the union that doesn't exist anymore. Missing her. I had thought the intensity would pass. People say it does, and you move on, but I don't want to move on. What everything comes down to is this: I want my wife back. I want my Ruth back.




The Long Fall Ch. 02



*****

Ruth is carrying two brown paper bags of groceries. It would be far easier for her if she'd use plastic bags. Her keys dangle from her fingers, and I think she may drop them because her attention is so much on the stairs, and on juggling the bags, that she doesn't even notice me until she's a couple of steps past the landing. 

"What's wrong, John? What happened?"

"Nothing, Ruth. Nothing's wrong. Everything's okay."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you."

She stops. Except for her eyes, Ruth does not move a muscle. She seems terrified. "Why?" 

"Because..." I'm not sure how to put it. "Because I need more than a friend. I need you. I want us to try to be a family again."

But Ruth begins shaking her head before I'm even finished. Then, finally:

"No!" 

What's happening? She begins rambling, crying, babbling. She shakes her head the entire time she's talking, a 'no' with each shake, like some metronome. "No! No! No! You don't get to do this! Oh God, no!" 

I don't understand. Ruth swings her arms back and forth with every "no," and on the last one she heaves both grocery bags to the walkway. Glass shatters, and there are crashes, and tearing sounds, and cans banging around. Milk, and some red liquid, and egg yolk spatter over the walkway. Cans roll everywhere. 

"You can't do this!" Stop screaming Ruth! They'll think I'm attacking you. She runs her hands, both of them, through her hair and over her face, and she's crying, not just little bitter tears but great, gulping sobs. "You can't!" I'm trying to talk. "You can't!" She takes one, two aimless steps and her foot comes down on a can and she stumbles to the wall. She almost falls. "Don't toy with me! Don't!"

I thought she'd be excited. I thought it would make her happy. I had these visions of being with her, all ecstasy and trumpets and choruses of angels, at least that's how it felt, though what it looked like was just we two standing nowhere special, nuzzling each other. There were no details of scene, no place, no objects that stood out, not even our children. I should feel guilty. It was sappy on the face of it, but I thought she wanted to come back. 

"Ruth..."

"No! You don't get to wait...oh God...until...I'm resigned to being alone and then come waltzing back into my life!" She's wiping her face with her hands, over and over. "You can't do that! It's not fair!" 

A pity, you say, this kind of irony, and I agree, because now I know that, however much I want to despise her, I can't not love Ruth, or not want her, or not miss her. I'm so tired of life as a locked room, and I just can't stand to punish us with aloneness any more. It doesn't work at all. A pity, but it's the wrong time to give in to pity. I wade through the mess on the walkway. Egg yolks, flour, milk, red liquid, cans. Everything but the cans sticks to me. The bags cling to my feet. "Ruth. Listen."

She puts her hands against my chest and won't let me get close. She's still crying.

"What happens when you change your mind again?" 

"That won't happen. Never. Never." I take her hands. "Never. It can't happen. I won't let it. We'll go to counseling together. As long as it takes. Come home." 

At that she grabs my lapels and pulls her face to my chest. I hold her and she shudders and buries her face in the front of my shirt. I reach all the way around her. With her crying and her faced pressed into me, I can hardly make out what she's saying.

"You can't ever change your mind. Please don't. I'll die. I will."

We're not in a romance. We aren't Prince Charming and Aurora. There are no trumpets or angels, and neither of us is waltzing anywhere. We're two ordinary people, holding each other on the trash-covered walkway of a nondescript apartment building, with the mess of shattered groceries all over our feet, and I can't tell you how lucky I feel.

Ruth has finally gotten control of herself. She wipes her face on my shirt again. She looks up. The storm is passing. She wipes her face with both hands yet again, and dries them on her slacks. "I knew I'd lost you for good, that I ruined everything. I couldn't make it better. I'm so sorry." She takes my face in her hands. Even damp, they're hers. "I've missed you so much."

I pull away, to be able to look her in the face better, but she pulls me close. "Let me hold you. I just want to hold you." 

Then, finally, we're holding each other, our faces together, nuzzling, kissing, murmuring, and I don't want it to end. Was it ever like this? It's been so long. I have an idle thought that we should clean the walkway. 

*****

No the family hasn't died. Not exactly, and not completely. I still don't know where it is going. I hope our little family unit will heal. I think it will. Ruth once learned to trust me again. I think I trust her, but who knows what's growing in their cellars? I don't know, but I'm trying. I'm more than trying. I'm committed to our being together, so I think we'll be okay. Even not knowing the last act, I'm happy she's here. I'm more than happy. At some point, I swear I heard them, the angels, the trumpets, the whole symphony.

But what if I found she'd done it again? What if I caught her? A while ago she gave me one of those intimate looks, and I remembered her giving it to Bill and saw her hand caress his cheek. What if ... stop it! I don't want to have those thoughts, and I don't need them! They're what's lurking in my dark corners. Paranoid fears, I banish thee! There. That should work for now. We're together. We're going to rebuild a life, a stick at a time.

I don't know about the larger family.

Ruth is asleep. I keep my hand on her, touching her here and there. Yes, she's really here. She's even naked. We made love and she drifted off right afterward, during afterglow. It was healing sex. We were each trying to make it special for the other, and it worked better for her than for me.

"Ruth?" I brush her shoulder.

"Huh?"

"You should get your nightgown on. We may have visitors later."

"Oh. Okay, honey."

"And I have a couple of things on my mind."

"Uh-huh? Wait." She turns on her bed light and gets up on an elbow. "What is it?" She's rubbing her eyes.

"I need to make some calls tomorrow. To family members."

"Mm-hmm." She puts a hand on my arm. "Did you think I wouldn't agree?"

"That includes Bill."

"I'm glad. I didn't know how to bring him up."

"It's about time we became brothers again."

There's a pause. "Dr. Parker says I should avoid seeing him. Ever."

"We'll deal with that. There has to be another way."

"Then I'll talk with him too. So we can become whole again."

"I'm glad." We kiss. "And also Jolene. I need to tell her we're back together."

This time Ruth is quiet. Finally, "I don't think I can talk to her...just yet."

"I know. But I have to. I owe her that much. And who knows? If it worked out for us...?"

We kiss again. Those lips. I can't explain the wonder of them. Since Ruth is still naked her breasts are hanging there right in front of me, too, and of course I love how soft that skin is. And the skin of her stomach. And her sweet, dark hair, and her thighs, and it's time to make love again. She caresses me back, the way she knows I like it, and I imagine her caressing my brother. It's such a strong image I have to lie still for a moment and breathe through my mouth until it passes. I hope she can't tell.

So, no, the family's not healed, and there's work ahead of us. We'll begin to deal with it tomorrow. I'm hopeful.